


When Summer Fades

by StellaBlue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Black Family (Harry Potter), Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Community: HPFT, Death Eaters, Difficult Decisions, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Horcruxes, Loss, Loyalty, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 06:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6645148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellaBlue/pseuds/StellaBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div>
  <p>
    <img/>
    <br/>
  </p>
</div>I didn't know which side I was on. Perhaps my own side: that of loneliness and secrecy.<p>(Or: the story of Regulus Black's journey from confused teenage Death Eater to self-sacrificing hero.)</p><p>
  <i>2017 Golden Chalice Award for Best Friendship || HPFF Hufflepuff Featured Story September 2014 || 2nd place in kenpo's Friendship Challenge on HPFF</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. equinox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _equinox: (spring/autumn) when night and daylight are in equal proportion._

Ever since I could remember, I was a neutral force caught between two polar opposites. I didn't have strong opinions of my own regarding the Dark Lord and war and all that business; if I formed an opinion, I'd be alienating someone in my family, when my parents and brother were on opposing sides. I didn't know who was right. So in the beginning, I'd just agree with whomever I was talking to at the moment.

Mum and Dad taught me from an early age that purebloods, like our family, were essentially the nobility of wizarding families, and Muggles were scum not fit to clean our shoes. My brother Sirius claimed this was a load of dragon dung. He was a rebel: he spent all his time with blood traitors and Mudbloods, playing pranks, and generally behaving in an unseemly manner that would not befit a proper pureblood. Mum and Dad were generally embarrassed about the way he turned out, and turned up their noses at him, but despite his disgrace, he seemed happy. Certainly happier than I was.

I didn't know whether to follow in Sirius' footsteps – and therefore end up disappointing my parents – or follow what my parents wanted, thus disappointing Sirius. I wanted them all to be proud of me. But either way, someone would think I had failed them.

My friends at school were all in support of the Dark Lord as well, and I began to feel that this was my side in the building war. Only Sirius' carefree rebellion balanced out the influences in my life. But then he left, ran away from home to a family that actually appreciated him, and all I heard afterward was praise of the Dark Lord with nothing to counter it anymore. The scales tipped without Sirius; caught up in a fever of ambition, my friend Darian Wilkes and I joined the Death Eaters just before Christmas of our sixth year at Hogwarts. It wasn't much of a commitment then, since we were still in school, but it was enough to make us feel purposeful, powerful, and eager to serve the Dark Lord. And so I would have continued, if I hadn't gained balance again in the form of Summer Phillips, the last person on Earth I would have expected to befriend.

Summer was a plain girl. She was average height, about up to my shoulder; her blonde hair was long and straight, her eyes a bit too large for her face, and her teeth crooked. And her parents were common Muggles. But to me, Summer was far from ordinary.

For six years, she had just been one of many Hufflepuffs who smiled too much. I never gave her a passing thought until the day I was late to Charms class at the beginning of my seventh year at Hogwarts and found my usual seat taken by a Ravenclaw. My friends Wilkes and Jasper eyed their new company warily, and I grimaced across the room at them as I took the last available seat, next to the Mudblooded Hufflepuff, Phillips.

She didn't seem to notice my reaction – or if she did, she didn't comment on it. She merely gave me a friendly smile – we weren't friends, for Merlin's sake, I didn't even _know_ her – and then she got out her textbook.

My heart sank. In my hurry to get to class on time, I had forgotten to put my own book in my bag. But I didn't feel like talking to Phillips, so I dutifully took notes on Professor Flitwick's lecture until he told us to practice using instructions in the book, and it became evident I could no longer get away with not having a book.

“Where’s your book?” Phillips chirped.

“I forgot it,” I told her in a sharp voice that I hoped invited no further conversation.

But she only beamed at me. “It's okay! We can share mine!” she suggested, sliding her book across the desk with one pink-fingernailed hand so that it rested between us. I grunted a lame expression of thanks, irritated at being indebted to a too-cheerful Mudblood for the lesson.

We didn't talk much, although she tried to; she asked lots of questions to which I gave monosyllabic responses. But my frustrated silence did nothing to deter her gratingly sunny disposition.

When I was finally released from her clutches, about forty-five minutes later, I departed class with my friends while she waved happily at me and left with the other Hufflepuffs.

“Had fun working with Sunshine, did you?” Wilkes teased.

“She likes you, Regulus,” said Elliott Jasper with a smirk. “Are you going to break that poor Mudblood’s heart?”

“She doesn't like me,” I said. “She just seems like one of those people who are always happy about everything. _Merlin_ , am I glad to be out of class now. I’ve got to wash my hands, they’ve been sullied by a Mudblood.”

“Oh, holding hands under the desk, were you?” asked Jasper, clearly enjoying the situation. I scowled at him.

“That sucks,” said Wilkes as we turned a corner towards the Great Hall. “Sorry you had to deal with someone like that. I hate it when people are too happy.”

“Me too,” I said.

I went back to my regular seat in class after that, taking care to not be late. But for the next few weeks, Summer Phillips continued to wave at me whenever we passed in the corridors - which began to feel like it was quite often. My cold shoulder never put her off. But I watched her one day as she walked down the corridor after she passed by me smiling; she waved at about a dozen people, and greeted three more with hugs. Who did that on their way to class? How could one person have that many friends? I was one of hundreds to her. I would have bet she didn't even know all of their names.

At first, her unwanted attention was incredibly irritating; after one brief conversation in Charms, we were hardly friends. But one day she didn't smile at me as she walked by, and I was surprised to discover that I missed it. As obnoxiously chipper as she was, I had come to enjoy being smiled at in the corridor, thinking that someone was genuinely happy to see me – even if it was just from a Mudblood. My own friends didn't smile much; as good pureblood wizards we'd been raised to not show unnecessary emotion.

The next day I was a bit late to Charms again, and I glanced to see if there was an empty seat beside Phillips; maybe it had just been too long and my smiling quota was up, and I needed to renew it by working with her in class once more. Regardless, there was no empty seat near her, and besides, Jasper and Wilkes had saved me a seat this time. I gladly joined them. It was a silly thought I’d entertained for those brief few seconds – of course I had no business voluntarily sitting by a Mudblood.

I thought that would be the extent of all the interaction I’d ever have with her. How wrong I was.

An average day in the beginning of October became much shittier when I saw an article in the _Daily Prophet_ about Death Eater activity: some of them, my colleagues, had just murdered a family of Muggles in Ipswich. The article didn’t name anyone specific, but I knew it was Rosier and Mulciber who had done it.

Evan Rosier, who’d left Hogwarts last year, was a cool bloke with an odd sense of humour; I rather liked him. And I didn’t know or care about that Muggle family in Ipswich. But I kept getting flashes in my mind of Rosier freely using the agonising Cruciatus Curse on faceless Muggles curled up in terror, and flashes of green light as they died.

My discomfort wasn’t really about the Muggles. It was just that I couldn’t see myself in Rosier’s place – and it would be my place in a year once I was out of Hogwarts. The reality of it, seeing it printed on the page and knowing the inside story, my future story, was a bit scary. So I walked off by myself up to the Astronomy Tower; there’d be no one up there this late in the afternoon.

But when I pushed open the thick wooden door, I saw a silhouette framed against the orange sky: a girl leaning against the parapet, just looking out across the grounds. Phillips. She turned around when the door banged closed behind me; her blonde hair whipped around her face in the breeze, appearing golden in the late sunlight.

“Regulus, hi,” said Phillips, before turning back to look out over the tower again.

“Hello,” I said haltingly, remaining by the door. I hadn’t come up here to chat with cheerful Mudbloods, or to see anyone’s friendly smiles. I’d come up here to be alone. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I love being up here at sunset,” she enthused. “It’s just so beautiful, and I feel so free up at the top of the tower where I can see everything and feel the wind in my hair.”

I said nothing. I had no words to respond to such a statement.

She turned to face me again. “Is everything okay?”

I was slightly taken aback – why should she care? My personal life had nothing to do with her, and I didn’t appreciate the attempt to pry into my business. I was briefly struck by panic that she could do Legilimency and had read my turbulent thoughts about my fellow Death Eaters – but obviously she hadn’t. “Of course,” I said with trained coolness. “Why?”

“Every time I see you, you’ve got this dark, broody expression,” she explained, trailing her fingers lazily across the rough stone wall. “Don’t you ever smile?”

“Of course I smile,” I said, frowning. “When it’s appropriate.” I didn't realise I was frowning, though, until she looked at my face and laughed. This only made me scowl more, and I replaced my hand on the door handle, ready to leave. Maybe I was just so desperate to feel as happy as she was, but I didn’t open the door; I simply stood there indecisively. 

“Let’s see a smile, then,” she said, as if I were a child. “Come on, a real one. They say smiling makes you live longer!”

How the hell would smiling make anyone live longer? But I did anyway, so maybe she’d leave. At best, I managed a grimace, but then a sharp laugh slipped out at the absurdity of the situation. It only made her smile more brightly. “Come here,” she said.

There was really no reason not to. My friends weren’t anywhere around, and they need never know I’d spoken to Phillips. Maybe someone laughing and smiling with me was what I needed in order to get this weight off my shoulders. Even if she was a Mudblood. I wouldn’t need to speak to her again after this anyway. I suppose it was selfish of me, but I didn’t care – I never said I was a saint.

I joined her by the parapet. She didn’t say anything more, and we just watched some birds fly out of a tree in the faraway Forbidden Forest, behind which the gilded sky began to redden. I wondered if I should say something, but I had nothing to ask her, because I didn’t care. So I remained silent, and let the wind dance through my hair. 

“Feel better?” she finally asked.

I shrugged.

She continued speaking when I didn’t. “It’s peaceful up here, isn’t it? It does something to you, just takes you away from everything you don’t want to worry about.”

She was right, as much as I hated to admit it: simply standing up here away from all the rules and taboos of my pureblood life had been very relaxing. Up here on the Astronomy Tower at sunset, I was no longer Regulus Black, elite pureblood wizard upholding aristocratic behaviour. Here I was just anyone, or possibly no-one. It didn’t matter.

The next time when there was a good sunset was three days later, so I went back to the Tower then. Phillips wasn’t there, so I had the whole place to myself, and enjoyed the freedom of being alone. But when I heard the creaky hinges of the door to the stairwell, I turned around, and sure enough, Summer Phillips was back. She grinned.

“I was just leaving,” I said brusquely, straightening up from my position of slouching on the wall.

“You don’t have to,” said Summer. “I like the company. Unless you want _me_ to leave?”

Any of my friends, in my place, would have requested that Summer leave. But then again they wouldn’t have been up here watching the sunset in the first place. And I would feel like a tool telling Summer to leave what was really _her_ spot. So I said nothing.

“Man, you’re a tough shell to crack, aren’t you,” she said, walking up to the wall. “You don’t say much.”

Of course, I didn’t say anything in reply, and merely watched Phillips twirl her wand absently as she rested her elbows on the wall; a swirl of orange and yellow oak leaves drifted out from her wand and sailed off the tower. My eyes followed the path of the leaves as they made their way to the ground like little parachutes on the wind.

“Autumn is such a beautiful season,” she said.

I finally spoke. “I would have thought summer was your favourite,” I said obnoxiously, and then inwardly cringed. I was making puns on her name, something Sirius did with his own name, which had always pissed me off. Now I was no better.

“Well, I like summer too, obviously,” she said. “Every season has its own individual beauty, I think. What’s your favourite season?”

“Winter, maybe,” I said.

“You like the snow, then?” she asked.

“Yeah. And… sitting by the fire with hot butterbeer,” I admitted. What did it matter that I told her about myself? She was only a Mudblood; her opinion didn’t really matter. I didn’t care what she thought of me, and it was nice to be able to talk about such light and trivial things for once. “And snowball fights, and Christmas.”

“And hot cocoa with marshmallows,” she added with a grin. We lapsed into silence again, and eventually Phillips leaned her head on my shoulder. Her hand rested on the wall only a few inches from my arm.

“What are you doing?” I objected, nudging her away with my elbow, and she stood up straight again. “Don’t touch me, Mudblood.”

But Summer turned frosty at this, and slowly moved away, watching me through sad eyes. “You know, I’ve never been anything but nice to you, but you’re just determined to be mean, aren’t you. I don’t know if you’re aware, but blood status isn’t contagious.”

She was just a Mudblood, but I hated to see her face full of such disappointment at something I’d done to her. “I’m sorry,” I muttered.

But it didn’t move her, and she shook her head, stepping back from the wall. “I have other real issues to worry about, and I really don’t have time to waste on people who repay kindness with rudeness.”

What could possibly be more of a real issue than the fine line I walked every day? All the same, I couldn’t let her leave, taking away with her the only kindness I’d experienced lately, and I felt a twinge of regret at lashing out at her.

“I’m really sorry, Phillips. Er, Summer. I wish I could take it back. I, er, I could bring hot chocolate for us next time?” Maybe it was a desperate attempt, but it put a hint of a smile back on her face.

“Next time?” she asked.

“Well, you are going to come back up here again, aren’t you? You always do.”

“Right,” she said, and her voice had lost that hard edge and regained its usual warmth. “It’s okay, I’m not angry at you. If you ever want to talk again, I’ll be here, Reg – can I call you Reg?”

That caught me off guard; the only person who ever called me Reg was Sirius. “Er, sure, if you want.”

The sun was behind the trees now, so I told Summer I’d see her later. I left her on the tower. But for the next few weeks, I did keep coming back, and each time we’d talk just a little more. I began to think of her as a friend – but only in the space of the Astronomy Tower.

*

It was the end of October, and I’d just returned to the Slytherin common room after a cloudy, rather unimpressive sunset on the Tower.

“Where have you been?” Wilkes asked slyly. “You look… flushed.”

“Huh?” I asked, putting my cold hands against my face, which felt warm, but I couldn’t tell if it was just my cold hands or not.

“Don’t think we haven’t noticed,” Jasper prodded. “You disappear in the evenings all the time, for about half an hour. It’s obvious what you’re up to.”

“Who is she?” Wilkes asked. “Selma Yaxley?”

Jasper scoffed at him. “No, you twit, it’s not a Slytherin, otherwise he wouldn’t be keeping it a secret.” Then he turned to me. “Esther Davies? She’s a pureblood, and not bad to look at.”

“No,” I said shortly. “I’m not meeting a girl, I just like to have a little walk around, that’s all.”

“Then why do you look so happy?” Jasper persisted. “What about the other hot Ravenclaw, the tall one?”

“She’s a half-blood, idiot,” Wilkes told him. “That’d be almost as bad as if he was hooking up with that stupid Mudblood who always waves at him.”

Jasper laughed heartily, and I joined in convincingly. At least it was easy to lie to my friends; they had no idea I actually was meeting up with Summer. The mere idea that I would go out of my way to speak to her was so outlandish that it never crossed their minds that it might be real.

I told Summer about this amusing exchange the following day, when the sunset was a nice yellow, although very cold. “My friends have noticed,” I said. “They think I’m shagging a girl in Ravenclaw.”

She giggled. “My friends know about you. I think at first they were under the impression we were meeting up for some secret love affair… or maybe they just hoped that was the case—”

“You told them?” I shouted, picturing crowds of giggly Hufflepuff girls gossiping about me all throughout the corridors of Hogwarts until it reached the ears of the Slytherins.

“Well, yeah,” said Summer. “They’re my friends. You know, I think they would like you, too.”

“Phillips, you can’t just tell people that we’re friends,” I insisted. “There’s way too much at stake for me. My friends aren’t like yours; if they hear that I’m associating with people they don’t approve of, then it reflects badly on me. I have a reputation to uphold, and my family will hear about this and disown me like they disowned Sirius, and then—”

“Reg,” Summer interrupted, firmly putting a mittened hand on my wrist, ignoring the involuntary twitch of my arm beneath hers. “I know. I understand that it’s different for you, and that your friends hate people like me. I told only three people. I mentioned that they shouldn’t go on about it to anyone, and they’ll keep it secret because it’s important to me.”

I hung my head. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry my friends are… like that.” I hadn’t realised how much I’d changed, just in these few weeks. Sure, I’d still laugh about Mudbloods with my friends, but I’d started to care, to see the hurt my friends caused others. I had been so selfish all this time.

“But you’re not,” said Summer softly.

“Yes, I am,” I said. “I’m just like them.”

She watched me for a moment. “Maybe,” she said. “But you’re a good person, Regulus. I can see it. Maybe you’re not always nice, but you’re good.”

Down on the ground, far below the tower, I could see a boy and a girl on the hillside, running, free. In another life, that could have been me and Summer. I imagined a life where Summer and I didn’t have to hide our friendship; maybe we could have even been in love. But I didn’t need a girlfriend – I just wanted a friend. And although I’d known her for less than two months, Summer was already more of a friend than any of my Slytherin classmates. She listened, she genuinely cared, and she didn’t judge – and that was more than I could say for Darian Wilkes.

“We need to find somewhere else to meet,” I said eventually. “It’s starting to get too cold up here.”

“I know of somewhere,” said Summer. “My friend Artemis told me about it yesterday, actually. There’s a room on the seventh floor where you can hide anything. Artemis used it to hide something illegal, I’m fairly sure. And there’s loads of old textbooks. But we can use it to hide… ourselves. I’ll show you now, if you want! Come down in five minutes and go to the seventh floor by the tapestry of trolls. I’ll meet you there when the corridor is empty.”

So she left, and four minutes later I followed. When I got to the troll tapestry, a door appeared out of nowhere on the wall opposite it, and Summer’s head poked out. She reached out a hand and beckoned me inside.

With the door closed behind us, I took a moment to look around. Beneath a high, vaulted ceiling, there were rows of bookshelves, cabinets, and stacks of old rubbish that had probably been there for at least a hundred years. “We have it all to ourselves,” she said. “We’ll never be able to see the sunset out the window due to all this crap in the way – but we can meet here to… just talk, I guess. If you want to.”

“Of course,” I said, still looking around the room, slack-jawed. And then I smiled back at Summer – a real smile. There was no chance of anyone finding us, not here in our room. “Look, there are even games here.” I pointed to an old Gobstones set, atop a crate next to a bust of an old warlock. “This is great, because I’m actually pretty good at Gobstones.”

“Oh, I’m brilliant at Gobstones,” she said, snatching the set off the crate with a wicked grin. “I challenge you! Whoever loses has to do something embarrassing.”

Fortunately, she lost, and then I got to put weird charms on her hair that made it stand on end for an hour. We spent far longer than our usual half hour in each other’s company, laughing amidst the piles of ancient rubbish in this room that seemed to hold secrets even Time had forgotten.

We continued to meet up in our secret room. Once, two of Summer’s friends came along, and it took me fifteen minutes to realise that I didn’t know their blood status – and even more, that I didn’t really care. I finally understood why Sirius had turned out the way he had, as I was just now beginning to get a taste of this freedom, and I loved it. But for me, freedom was limited to this room, or on the Astronomy Tower; a freedom only in secret. Outside, it was ever the same as before.

I began to wonder which side I was really on. Certainly I was still proud of my elite position as one of the Death Eaters, and for the work I’d be doing in the service of the Dark Lord. But they could be so uptight, and I didn’t enjoy their presence; they made me nervous and stressed. With Summer and her friends, I felt buoyant. Deep down, my heart told me to leave the Death Eaters, but I was afraid. The cost would be too high, and it wasn’t worth it. So I continued to stretch across the ever-widening gap between two worlds.

Eventually, Summer and I became a bit lazy about all our secrecy. We’d walk together in the corridors sometimes – but of course, when anyone I knew was around, we would act as if we didn’t know each other, and one of us would slow down a bit so it didn't look like we were together. And every time this happened, I’d be annoyed at my friends for showing up. It began to grate on me more and more, until one day I couldn’t take it all anymore. I roughly grabbed Summer's arm and pushed her ahead of me for a few steps, wrenched open the door of a broom closet, and shoved her inside, following her quickly and slamming the door behind us.

“Ooh, Regulus, a _broom closet_ ,” she said somewhere in the darkness, the surprise evident in her laughing voice. “Desperate, are we?”

“Summer, I—” I began, but then realised what she must think this was. “Can we talk?”

She snorted in a very unladylike manner. “People _talk_ in broom closets? All right, if you didn't bring me here just to snog me, we may as well not stand in the dark. _Lumos._ ”

A glow of light emanated from her hands and illuminated her grinning face. But when she looked at me, her smile vanished. I clearly wasn't doing as well as I'd been taught to keep my emotions off my face; my distress must have been obvious to her.

And before I could stop myself, I was divulging all my feelings I’d ever kept inside: my frustration at the self-righteousness of Slytherin, my worries about whether I was mixed up in things I shouldn’t be, whether I had real friends, regrets about not listening to my brother, anger at my brother for leaving me behind when he ran away. I didn't say I was a Death Eater, and she didn't ask what exactly I was involved in, for which I was grateful. It would have hurt us both for me to tell her. She just listened until I had talked myself hoarse.

I felt hot prickling tears at the corners of my eyes, and tried to blink them away; I looked away guiltily when Summer looked into my eyes. She reached her arms out to me, and for one mad second I thought she was about to kiss me, but she drew me towards her and let my head rest on her shoulder, stroking my back gently. I flinched at first when she touched me – I couldn’t recall the last time someone had actually given me a hug, and I wasn’t used to the sensation.

She held me tight, and at last, with my arms around her, I let those traitorous tears escape my eyes – the first time I could remember crying in front of another person. Mum would have been appalled at me; it was shameful for a man and a pureblood to cry. But Summer didn't think any less of me, and I needed that comforting embrace so much.

“Summer, I just can’t do it anymore,” I said into her shoulder. “I’m so tired of pretending. But if I stop pretending, it’ll only be worse.”

She was quiet for a while – perhaps trying to work out how to respond to my outburst – and finally said, “Maybe things will look better once we’ve left Hogwarts. It’s a fresh start.”

In the beginning of December, Summer was gone for about a week. I didn’t see her in classes, or in the library, or in the Great Hall. No one smiled at me in the corridors, those tall, arched halls which felt airless and empty without her. I wondered if something had happened to her. But I couldn’t mention this to anyone, because my friends wouldn’t care about a Mudblood like her.

So I tried to phrase it nonchalantly when I asked Wilkes one day. “Wonder what happened to that Mudblood who used to wave at me all the time,” I said. “She finally stopped. I don’t even see her in class.”

Wilkes yawned as he stretched his arms along the top of the sofa. His left sleeve was slightly wrinkled, such that I could see the black edge of Voldemort’s Dark Mark on his skin. “Maybe she died.”

“Maybe,” I said, shrugging. I looked down at my own arm, and tugged the sleeve past my wrist so that it looked overlong, hiding the Dark Mark behind several inches of fabric.

It was with great relief when I saw Summer again in Potions, and briefly grinned across the room at her. But when I turned back to my seat, it was to see Jasper watching me with narrowed eyes. I got the uneasy feeling that he could read my mind, even though he couldn't have been doing Legilimency without eye contact, and guiltily dropped my eyes to my textbook. I’d been feeling this a lot lately – the paranoia that everyone knew what I was thinking, that I’d begun to wear my heart on my sleeve.

Fortunately, Jasper didn’t say anything in class. But he cornered me that afternoon near an empty classroom when no one else was around. “You were concerned about that Mudblood earlier today,” he said.

I played it cool. “Which Mudblood? Phillips? Of course not.”

“Be careful,” said Jasper. “I’ve noticed. There is no way you’re just taking walks around Hogwarts for two hours at a time. I’ve seen you two walking in the corridors together.” He stared at me intently. “Why would you seek the company of a Mudblood?”

“Oh, we both like Potions, so we talk every now and then. But I know, it’s beneath me.”

Jasper shook his head. “There are far better people who like Potions, you know that. I haven’t told anyone about your pitiful and socially disastrous alliances, because they’re going to stop once we’re out in the real world. You won’t be friends with her after Hogwarts.”

“Right.”

He swept off down the hall; he had taken only about ten steps away when Summer darted out from an adjoining corridor and fell into step beside me, her green eyes downcast. We walked in silence for a bit, and then she said, “Regulus, there’s something I need to tell you.”


	2. syzygy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _syzygy: (new/full moon) a union or alignment of one or more celestial objects and the sun._

“Okay,” I said, and we snuck over to a broom closet together after double-checking that the coast was clear. Once securely inside, I asked her, “What is it that you needed to tell me?” _What’s wrong_ , I wanted to add, but I was just hoping I’d misinterpreted the tone of her voice.

Perhaps she’d found out that I was a Death Eater, and didn’t want anything to do with me anymore. I waited nervously for her to speak. But I never could have predicted her response.

“I… I have cancer,” she said quietly.

I stared at her in the hazy wandlight. Wizards didn’t usually get cancer, so I never thought much about it – it was just Muggles and Muggle-borns who seemed to be susceptible to it, and up until this year I hadn’t known any Muggle-borns, so I'd never had much reason to think about it. “But… you’ll be all right?” I didn’t know anything about the disease.

Summer shrugged stiffly. “I’m going in for surgery over the holiday, to get a brain tumour removed. After that I guess we’ll see.”

I remained there, unmoving, uncertain how to react. Summer was the constant in my life; I didn’t want to hear a _maybe_ from her. That was like she was acknowledging the possibility of a _no_. “You’ll be all right,” I insisted, for my own sake as much as hers.

She smiled weakly. “If you say so,” she said. “The universe shouldn’t dare go against Regulus Black’s command.”

When I didn't say anything, she continued. “Well, I just wanted to let you know. All right, I'll head out first and let you know if it's safe for you to leave.” She cracked the door open a few inches, and then drew it open wider to walk out. Before she slipped out the door, I grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. She gave me a long glance, then turned left into the corridor. I turned right, steadily walking away, but my mind still dwelt there in that broom cupboard with Summer, remembering the anxiety on her pale face.

I had only ever used Summer’s friendship selfishly, for my own needs and mental well-being. I’d used her so I could be rid of my worries, and she’d been a good friend. Now she needed me to be her friend. Should I visit her over the holiday, which was sure to be a miserable one for her? What if people found out? How much was I willing to give up for her?

After all, Christmas was a time you were supposed to spend with your loved ones, not sitting in a hospital. Usually, for me, Christmas meant going home to a house where I was the golden child, where my parents heaped welcome compliments on me while ignoring Sirius as he sulked in the corner. It meant gifts and snow and hot butterbeer and curling up in a blanket by the crackling fire. It also meant a stressful dinner with extended family where I had to keep my elbows off the table, my posture straight, my toothy grins and tears hidden. But I was willing to put up with those austere rules because everything else about the day was wonderful.

Of course, the past two years, it hadn't been as great as I remembered the Christmases of my childhood. Sirius hadn't been there, not since he'd run away and been disowned over the summer before my fifth year. So I'd been alone in receiving the compliments again at Christmas, which was no different, but I had missed making faces with Sirius across the table when we were supposed to be acting proper.

I found myself wondering what Christmas was like in the Phillips household. I'd never asked.

Summer and I met up in the hidden room on the seventh floor later that week, and I asked her to tell me about how she celebrated Christmas. She laughed, and described what sounded like a ridiculous day. Summer's family was the opposite of mine; rather than scolding her for slouching at dinner, her mum sometimes had too much wine and slumped over the table eagerly telling stories to an equally silly audience of neighbours and cousins roaring with laughter. The story made me smile too as I tried to fathom what it would be like to spend Christmas in this manner.

But it probably wouldn't be that way this holiday, with Summer in the hospital. Summer's mum might be drinking for a different reason. And without further ado, I blurted, “I'm going to visit you on Christmas. I'll come see you in St. Mungo's. You shouldn't have to have a miserable day, not on Christmas.”

“I won't be at St. Mungo’s,” she said. “They don’t know how to deal with cancer there, because most wizards don’t get it. Besides, I don’t think my dad entirely trusts magic as a means of treatment. I’ll be at the Muggle hospital.”

The idea was disconcerting: me, a pureblood and a Black, going into a Muggle hospital full of Muggles coughing their Muggle diseases… Muggles who were ill and had to spend their holiday desolately contained in a ward, like Summer. “Then I’ll visit you there,” I said. But then I hesitated, momentarily plagued with worry. “That is, if you want me to visit?” It could easily be that she didn't want me around. I’d never been a particularly good friend before.

“Of course, Reg, I'd love to see you, but… Christmas is about family, won't you want to spend it with yours? I don't think they'll want you to be with me.” Her eyes shone with feeling – how could she possibly be so concerned for me, when she was the one who was ill, the one about to be sliced open in the hospital?

“Don't worry about me,” I said. “Just tell me where, and I'll be there for you, like you've always been there for me.” It was the right thing to do for such a good person as Summer, and if once in my life I could be as good as she was, then I'd be happy.

I internally debated for ages on how to break the news to my parents that I wouldn't be there for Christmas, without arousing suspicion. So when the holidays began and I returned home to 12 Grimmauld Place, I finally told my parents that I'd been selected to carry out a task for the Dark Lord and would be gone for Christmas morning. As I had hoped, they were very proud of this honour that the Dark Lord had bestowed upon me. I only hoped Mum wouldn't talk about it in her social circles, because then someone would eventually work out that I was lying. How much easier it would have been if my friends would cover for me, but they certainly wouldn't, not if they knew I was spending Christmas with Muggles.

On Christmas morning, I snuck into Sirius's old room and rummaged through his things to find anything that looked more Muggle than a set of pressed robes; Sirius would be the type to have Muggle clothes just to spite Mum and Dad. And indeed, I found a black T-shirt that said 'Aerosmith' over an outline of wings, and while I didn't know what that meant, I could infer from Sirius's interests that it was either a musical group or had something to do with motorbikes. After donning a pair of corduroy trousers and then a cloak on top of it all, I disappeared out of the house to meet Summer.

The lobby of the hospital was crawling with Muggles, and it was a bit uncomfortable. I felt like I didn't belong. But when I went up to the desk, the man behind it greeted me with a friendly smile and said, “Happy Christmas!”

“I’m here to see Summer Phillips,” I told the man, who directed me to Summer's room. I knocked softly on the door and walked in. A balding, red-haired man and a blonde woman with her hair up in a bun sat in chairs beside a bed, where Summer lay. Her head was bandaged heavily, and her arm was linked, by way of thin tubes, to a number of instruments and frankly scary looking medical equipment that surrounded the bed. There was also a little table with flowers and a card. I wondered if I should have brought flowers too, so with my hands behind my back, I surreptitiously grabbed my wand from inside my sleeve, and conjured a bouquet of yellow carnations and lilies.

“Hello,” I said, holding out the flowers. “I brought you these.”

Summer smiled. “Reg, it’s you… oh, thank you!” she slurred, her eyes glazed, almost as if she’d drunk Amortentia or too much Firewhisky, and reached her hand up. The blonde woman by the side of the bed – Summer’s mother, I could assume – stood up to take the flowers from me.

“Hi, dear,” she said with a tired smile. “Oh, these flowers are lovely – we can put them on this table here, all right?”

“Yeah, thanks,” I said as she took the flowers from me and arranged them next to the other bouquets, and then I walked over to Summer’s bedside. “How are you doing?” I asked softly.

“I’m okay,” she said. “They’ve got me on loads of drugs so I can’t feel a thing. I just feel weird.”

I nodded, at a loss for what else to say, and then Summer spoke up again. “Reg, these are my parents,” she said. “Mum, Dad, this is Regulus, he’s a friend from school.”

I couldn't believe I'd been so rude as to forget to introduce myself, and hastily held out my hand to each of them in turn to shake. Months ago I would never have imagined shaking hands with a Muggle, but it was just like shaking the hand of a wizard or witch.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” said Mrs Phillips warmly. “Summer is lucky to have a friend like you, to come out to the hospital on Christmas!”

“It's nice to meet you too,” I said. “Summer is my best friend, so of course I was going to see her on Christmas.” But at that moment, I realised that I hadn’t even gotten a Christmas gift for her. I turned to face Summer again, and finally mumbled, “I’m sorry I didn’t bring you a present.”

“It’s enough of a present just that you’re here,” said Summer. “Of course, you can get me a unicorn when we’re back at school.”

Mrs Phillips looked fondly at her daughter, her brow furrowed in concern. “Summer, sweetheart, you aren’t going back to school this term, remember?” she said gently, smoothing the sheet on Summer’s bed. “You've got to get better first. But the doctors say you should be able to return to school next year.”

Summer nodded vaguely, and I felt my insides twist into knots. The rest of the school year seemed much less inviting now.

Mr Phillips, who up until that point had been silent, spoke up. “So tell us about yourself, Regulus,” he said. “You and Summer met at Hogwarts; are you from a – er, what's the term you lot have – Muggle family like us, or do you have magic in the family?”

“They’re all magic,” I said dully. For some reason I really didn’t want to discuss my family with Summer’s parents. Why was family background the first thing anyone ever talked about?

Mr Phillips nodded with appreciation. “That's incredible,” he said. “Simply incredible. Do you know, up until our Summer turned eleven, we had no idea that magic existed all around us! It’s very strange, isn’t it? When Summer came back after her first term at that school, I was worried she’d turn our teacups into toads or something.”

“I tried, but I got a warning about underage magic,” said Summer quietly.

Mrs Phillips put a finger to her lips suddenly. “We shouldn't be discussing this here,” she said. There were no other Muggles in the room apart from Summer's parents, but she was right; it would be unwise to keep talking as we were. But then I found I didn't know what to talk about. Summer was ill and not coming back to Hogwarts, I didn't have anything in common with her parents or even know much about Muggle things... every discussion topic felt off limits. Eventually Summer, tired from all the medicines, dropped off to sleep, and her parents and I made small talk about the weather and other unimportant things, until some cousins of Summer's came in to visit and I left, after getting a hug from both of Summer's parents.

I got back home in the early afternoon, and many of my cousins and aunts and uncles were there already, milling about with glasses of mead in the stuffy sitting room. I didn't feel like socialising with anyone. But here I had appearances to keep up, so I steeled myself – held my head high as I walked into the crowd and pretended to be interested in some scandal Aunt Druella was waxing lyrical about.

Mum drew me aside just before dinner, her eyes burning holes into me. “Your cousin Bella says the Dark Lord had no secret plans going on today,” she said pointedly. “If I find out you were lying about your work this morning… I warn you, dishonesty is not tolerated in this house. With you disappearing and neglecting your family, you'll turn out like Sirius.”

Mum hardly ever mentioned him, except to prompt me to do something differently for their approval. But the comparison made me glad for once. Sirius was off somewhere spending the day with the girl he loved; he might have taken the dishonourable path of forsaking the family and our reputation, standing up against the Dark Lord, and running off into the sunset with Melanie, but he had followed his heart and was happy. I could see that now, and I was proud of him. For me, following my heart had led me to my best friend Summer, who made me the happiest I'd ever been. I wondered how Sirius was doing, and mused that he would probably like Summer.

“Perhaps the Dark Lord just doesn't trust Bella with everything,” I suggested quietly, and Mum seemed satisfied with this response, as it implied the Dark Lord had higher esteem for me than for my cousin – something Mum was always proud to hear. I was still safe in my lies, at least for now.

*

Returning to Hogwarts in January was a rather dreary business. Wilkes complained about Mudbloods standing in his way in the corridor, and Jasper kept going on about his efforts to get a job. I continued to excel at Potions and struggle with Charms. It was no different to before, except that Summer wasn't around to talk to any more when the pretentiousness of my friends got to be too much for me. So one afternoon, I wrote a letter to her. There wasn't anything too intense in it, I just wanted to know how she was doing and let her know I missed her.

Successfully getting the letter into her hands was another thing entirely, though. She was in a Muggle hospital, so I could hardly send her an owl. And I had no idea how the Muggle post worked. So I addressed the scroll to Mr and Mrs Phillips, adding a small sidenote that the letter was for Summer, and then just hoped my owl would be able to figure it out.

Fortunately Mr and Mrs Phillips could handle owl post after six years of their daughter being at Hogwarts, so sure enough, a few days later I heard from Summer again, although the response was actually written by her mum, as Summer was feeling too sick to do much. At least she was able to tell her mum what to write down.

This went on for a while – sometimes I was corresponding with Summer, and sometimes with her mum, Anne. Eventually Anne even began to add in light-hearted reminders for me to work hard and keep my grades up, and other very mum-like things that made me roll my eyes, but I was touched at her concern.

So I had wonderful support outside Hogwarts, and just knowing that helped get me through. Occasionally I still joined my friends in discussions about how vile Mudbloods were, but now it was nothing but an act for me. I wondered, at times, if Jasper suspected anything: every now and then I'd find him watching me closely. But there was nothing for him to catch me at anymore; with Summer home from school, I was no longer disappearing and lurking about. And when he saw me furtively sending letters away, I simply said they were to my brother.

When Summer eventually returned home from the hospital, I was able to send letters to her directly, which was nice. But I continued correspondence with her mum as well, because she told me the things Summer concealed.

 _Hi Reg,_ wrote Summer, _I saw the most beautiful sunset yesterday and it made me think of you, and how we used to stand at the top of the Tower together until it got cold and dark. I miss that a lot. I'm doing okay, but my hair is falling out and I look like a hag, not exactly the most fetching. Hope school is going all right – I've been hearing things about You-Know-Who and I know how it must be for you. But you're strong, keep your head up – only a few more months, and remember I'm always just an owl away.  
Love,  
Summer  
P.S. You still owe me a unicorn._

But Summer's letter seemed almost empty in comparison with Anne's.

_Thank you for your last letter. It is wonderful to have Summer back home again, although it hurts Alan and me so much to see her like this. The doctors have said they've never seen anything like her case before, and warned us that there might not be a lot they can do. I am sorry to tell you this, but I thought you should know.  
Anne_

“I knew you weren’t actually writing to your blood traitor brother,” Jasper told me one day as I hastily stuffed a roll of parchment out of sight a second too late. He’d seen over my shoulder. “Summer… isn’t that the Mudblood that left school?”

“This is to my neighbour,” I said.

Jasper shook his head. “No, it isn’t. You're about as discreet as a hippogriff in an antique shop. I’ve known for months that there was something strange going on with you–”

“No–”

“–And I covered for you,” he continued, ignoring my interruption. “People were starting to say things last term, and I even saw you two together sometimes, but I shut down the rumours. But sweet Salazar, are you an _idiot_ , Regulus. I won’t cover for you forever. What the hell are you doing? I just don’t understand what's gotten into you.”

I stared at him for a moment, grateful that he would help me, even if it was only to keep his own reputation from being marred by his friendship with me. “Summer is my friend,” I finally said. “And she's dying.”

“Sorry,” he said blandly, not sounding remotely sorry at all. But I did notice that afterwards, he stopped telling his favourite joke about the Mudblood and the banshee that walk into the Leaky Cauldron, at least not when I was around.

Over the Easter holidays, I wasn't able to meet up with Summer. With only one more term left at school, I had to be prepared for life afterwards, so I had actual work now with the Dark Lord; Wilkes and I would go to the meetings together. During those few meetings, I'd watch my fellow Death Eaters laugh and holler as they tortured Muggles, while I stood on the sidelines gripped by nausea. What was I doing? This whole business was starting to scare me, and I wasn't even in the thick of it yet.

Mum kept a watchful eye over me most of the time I was home, though, likely recalling my mysterious disappearance on Christmas. But I found some books of interest, which I proceeded to read with fervour during my spare time – books about immortality, about keeping Death away. Perhaps, I thought, I could find something in here that would save Summer, a potion or charm. She couldn't die; she was too good.

I found one tome about conquering Death and becoming its master, but it was just some loony old myth about a powerful wand called the Deathstick, a cloak that made the wearer invisible, and a stone that brought departed souls back to life. None of which were things I had, nor did I know where to go about looking for them, if they did indeed exist. In another book, I also discovered some disturbing and gruesome methods to make oneself immortal by murdering someone and then trapping your soul in an inanimate object... none of this was quite what I was looking for. I wrinkled my nose in disgust as I looked at the yellowed pages featuring the title _Horcruxes_ , and then threw the book aside. My searching was fruitless; I felt that I had failed Summer.

The last term at Hogwarts flew by; I had enough to cope with studying for N.E.W.T. exams, but I was also still scouring the Hogwarts library for information on magical remedies to Muggle ailments; I never did find anything. I continued writing to Summer and to Anne when I could, and it was easier to hide myself away surrounded by parchment with exam season upon us, as so many others were likewise isolating themselves to study.

We all left in June, upon the completion of our seventh and final year. Although I had been eagerly anticipating this day for months, the day I could stop pretending in front of my friends, the entire duration of our leaving ceremony I felt a bit queasy. I knew I'd miss what had come to be my home for seven years, and walking past the door to the Astronomy Tower would remind me of Summer, and the promises I had made to her and to myself. Now was the time that really mattered, because it could be a fresh start if I were brave enough. Wilkes was thrilled about leaving – I could see the zealous gleam in his eye as he talked of his hopes for his future as a Death Eater, how we were the real thing now, the people the Dark Lord would depend on. And that was the part that scared me more than anything.

In July I saw Summer again; we met in a park in her part of town, where I knew no one, and we had no fear of being seen. Her blonde hair, once like long waves of sunshine, was thin and lank now. But still she smiled as she saw me. We got ice cream together and then sat on a bench and talked for hours. I finally admitted the truth to her, that I was a Death Eater. She said she knew. And yet we remained on that bench together, the unbreakable bonds of our friendship keeping us afloat.

By August, she was back in hospital, and I visited her there too, until August washed away into September; the days started to get shorter, the nights colder, the leaves on the trees commencing their seasonal wither to red and brown. In the air was the beginning of autumn; the end of Summer.

 

***

**Disclaimer: I am not in any way associated with Aerosmith. The rest belongs to JKR.**


	3. solstice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _solstice: (summer/winter) when the sun stops in its path, and begins to head back to the equator._

Why did she have to be the one to get sick and die? She had so much going for her. I’d never valued my life the way she valued hers – she saw the beauty in everything, lived her short life to the fullest, until it got taken away from her. It wasn’t fair. I hated myself for it.

I lost more than just a friend when I lost Summer. I lost a part of myself, a part she had awoken in me: the part that could laugh, and hope, and cry… the side of me that could be human. And now I had once again become the stoic wreck I was before, inhuman, unfeeling. I returned listlessly and without purpose to the Death Eaters, because they were all I had now.

Summer was the only person I'd let in through the wall around me, and there was no one I could turn to anymore, no one to talk to. Nothing to say. I had lost Sirius long ago, due to my own pride, and bitterness that he'd run away and not thought of me until later. I had burned that bridge long ago, and I didn't know if he'd take me back. After all, the last time I'd seen Sirius, we were battling in a dark graveyard – me as one of the Death Eaters, the victors, and him with his fellow underground resistance fighters, weary and worn. Our eyes met for a brief second and I saw it written on his face as he looked at me: disgust and disappointment.

Sometimes I'd talk to our old house-elf Kreacher, but it wasn't the same. Although Kreacher liked me, I felt that pouring out the sadness in my soul to him would only be a mistake, and too much for him to handle. Besides, he was too close to my mother and too enamoured with the honour of the family he served. I had to put on a brave face and act like nothing had happened – and it was far too easy for me to do, to crush my feelings into nonexistence as I focused my attention on the work of the Death Eaters. Summer would have hated it. My behaviour would disgust her. But she still wouldn’t have hated _me_ , and that made me feel guiltier than ever.

Summer’s parents and I still wrote to each other occasionally, but my every move was watched by the Death Eaters now that I wasn’t in school, now that I was working for them. Going off by myself to meet unspecified people in a Muggle area was generally frowned upon. So I could never visit, but we corresponded. Anne told me that she visited Summer’s grave every day. I wrote a letter to Summer and asked Anne to place it on Summer’s grave next time she visited. I made up excuses as to why I couldn’t be there in person, to protect Anne from the vile truth, although it was with all honesty that I told her I wished with all my heart that I could be there in person.

Time moved on sluggishly, as if it were attempting to run through thick, viscous mud. In October, the Dark Lord made a peculiar request at one of our meetings: he required the use of a house-elf for a very important task. I volunteered Kreacher, whose heart would swell with joy if I could tell him that the Dark Lord needed his services. The Dark Lord gave me a brisk nod, and thanked me.

So when I went home after our meeting that day, I ventured down to the kitchen to see Kreacher. He bowed low, his long, pointed nose almost touching the floor, and said “Master Regulus. Kreacher is honoured by Master’s presence.”

I smiled. “I came down here with a task for you, from the Dark Lord himself,” I told Kreacher proudly.

He stared up at me, his eyes wide and watery. “The Dark Lord needs Kreacher’s help?” croaked Kreacher.

“Yes,” I said. “It is a great honour – although I do not in fact know what the task is. You will go see the Dark Lord, and you must be sure to do whatever he asks of you.” I paused, overtaken by a moment of distrust, wondering what the Dark Lord would possibly need with my family’s house elf. So I added as a precaution, “And then come home after.”

Once again, Kreacher bowed deeply, and then Disapparated; I returned upstairs.

After nearly two hours of tidying my room and removing the rubbish and owl pellets, Kreacher was still not back, and I grew anxious. What could he be doing for all that time? I wandered down to the kitchen, and then to Kreacher’s lair in the cupboard, then resumed my cleaning, nonplussed. My ears became increasingly sensitive to any sound that could potentially be Kreacher returning.

Fifteen minutes later, I finally heard the telltale _crack_ of Apparating downstairs, and descended the stairs again to find Kreacher kneeling in the middle of the tile floor, his tiny chest heaving and his face distorted in what was surely agony. I rushed over to him and eased him into a more comfortable position. “What happened, Kreacher?” I demanded. “What did he do to you?”

Kreacher mutely rocked back and forth, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask again, seeing the poor old elf in this horrid state. When he coughed, I brought him a glass of water, and this prompted him to speak. “Master Regulus should not stoop so low as to fetch things for Kreacher,” he said hoarsely, but drank the water all the same. And then he told me.

“The Dark Lord brought Kreacher… to a cave. There was a big lake…” Kreacher was shaking, but he continued speaking. “Kreacher had to drink a potion from a basin—so the Dark Lord could hide a locket—the Dark Lord left—and dead hands tried to drown Kreacher…” And then he howled miserably.

“You don’t need to say anything more, Kreacher,” I said, watching him intently, feeling a tug at my heartstrings for our poor house-elf having to go through an ordeal so ghastly he couldn’t even speak of it without shivering. “Stay hidden for a while,” I advised. “And definitely don’t leave the house,” I added, though it was unnecessary – Kreacher probably would not have wanted to do anything of the sort even if I hadn’t ordered him not to.

For the next few days I was on tenterhooks, checking on Kreacher rather often, trying to conceal my distress from Mum, and most of all, puzzling over what had just happened and trying to decide what I could do about it. I was far out of my depth, until the answer to everything came to me at the next gathering of the Death Eaters about two weeks later.

As I walked through a hallway in the old mansion in which we were meeting, far before I reached the room they occupied, I could hear the excited buzz of voices, the occasional shrieks from my cousin Bellatrix. It was the typical din of when they had Muggles to play with. And indeed, that was what I saw when I entered the room.

A man lay on the floor, dead. Bound to a chair nearby was a blonde woman in a long, flowery dress, and she turned to look at me as she heard my footsteps creak in the doorway. When I saw her face, a chill ran up my spine, and I froze suddenly in place. It was Anne Phillips, Summer’s mother. The dead man on the floor was Summer’s father.

My two worlds had intersected in the worst possible way. I felt like a fly trapped in a spider’s web, shaking and unable to free myself, helplessly waiting for the inevitable spider to swallow me up. This was not what I’d envisioned when Wilkes and I had eagerly joined the Death Eaters a year and a half ago. I didn’t belong here. I had to get out.

Mrs Phillips watched me vaguely, and I was thankful that in her dazed state she couldn't place where she'd seen me before, didn't associate this horrible Death Eater with the nice young man who had visited Summer in the hospital for Christmas, the person who wrote her all those letters.

“Just in time,” Rodolphus Lestrange said to me. “Want to finish her off?” I watched Bellatrix dance around the chair wildly, hitting Mrs Phillips with a Cruciatus Curse, filling the air with Anne’s strained screams.

“No,” I said crisply.

In the silence between Bella’s curses, Mrs Phillips’ gaze flickered back to me; a brief spark of recognition flashed in her eyes, as she whispered, “Re–”

But her voice was drowned out by Bellatrix's excited screech. “ _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ ”

While Bellatrix let out a manic, high-pitched laugh, Mrs Phillips crumpled to the floor, and I could only stare, numbly registering that my hands were shaking.

“Someone needs to move it out of the way,” said Bellatrix as she nudged Mrs Phillips' curled fingers with her foot.

 _It_. Not even a _person_ in the eyes of the Death Eaters. But she was, she _was_ , and her name was Anne – a human being who had just lost her daughter and then her husband and then all her hope as she recognised me and I did nothing. And now she was dead.

Before I could stop myself, I wept, for Summer, and Anne, and Kreacher, and the rest of them who didn't have a voice in this tired cosmic tragedy.

“Are you _crying_ about the _Muggle?_ ” Bella hissed, her dark eyes wild and disbelieving.

“Of course not,” I said vehemently, because even now I still had to save face. “There’s some fucking dirt in my eye.”

“That tends to happen with Muggles about,” said Wilkes, slapping me on the back in a brotherly manner. So my transgression passed by without prolonged comment.

But the Dark Lord was not fooled. His red eyes bored into me. “You are weak,” he said simply, a sneer distorting his thin lips. “Weak and emotional, like a little girl. Perhaps a position in the Death Eaters is no place for a child. What shall we do with you, then?”

“I’m not a child,” I said. But I was, really; I was still just a teenager, and this was no place for me. I kept my posture straight and my head up – this way I did not have to look at the bodies on the floor – and moved along, coming to stand alongside the other Death Eaters as the Dark Lord addressed us.

He said that most of us were disappointing. Bellatrix was leaning forward towards him, her face tilted up, eyes fixed on him, as if begging the silent question as to whether or not he meant she was a disappointment. The Dark Lord continued, informing us that he had killed one of Dumbledore’s resistance fighters himself earlier this week on useful information from Bellatrix. Bella relaxed, a smug smile upon her face as our master’s gratitude assuaged her, but I merely wondered if the dead person was someone else I knew, like Sirius. And then, the Dark Lord drew my close attention when he continued talking about death.

“I have taken more steps than any other on the path to immortality,” he boasted. “ _I_ cannot be killed, because I am more than just this body.”

I frowned at him in consternation. It sounded almost as if he meant he’d made a Horcrux, for one could not be killed after making a Horcrux, with part of the soul ensconced in another vessel. How bold of the Dark Lord to brag about it in this manner, as if he thought no one would figure him out. But I had read those books, back when I was trying to find cures for Summer, and I knew. The Dark Lord had a Horcrux. If I could find and destroy it, the Dark Lord could someday be killed, and no one else would find themselves in the miserable situation I lived every day.

It was only when I got back home that I discovered what the Horcrux might be. Kreacher came into my room to let me know that there was soup in the kitchen, and as I stared at that old house-elf and recalled the way he had been used by the Dark Lord, just to hide an old locket, the truth hit me. That was no ordinary locket. Kreacher had unknowingly helped the Dark Lord stash his Horcrux.

The Dark Lord might have seen me as his weakest link, but I knew I was more than that. Strength ran in the blood of the Black family: Mum, firm in her convictions, never let anyone get away with telling her what to do, and Sirius endured all manner of injury and loss as he voluntarily fought on the losing side of the war just because he believed in it. I was going to be strong too, and do what I needed to do. I would prove the Dark Lord wrong, and he would know it. The only question was how.

The solution I finally came up with was simple in its theory. One indigo twilight a few days later, I stopped by Diagon Alley and walked into a shabby old shop full of trinkets, where I bought a tawdry golden locket that more or less fit the description Kreacher had provided. I went back home to sit at the fine wooden rolltop desk in my room, with a small fragment of parchment in front of me, upon which I would inscribe my last message to the Dark Lord.

I spun the quill around in my fingers a few times, labouring over each sentence in my mind before writing anything. In the end, though, it wouldn’t really matter; based on Kreacher’s tale, my intended trip to the dim, watery cave would likely be one-way. Finally, I dipped my quill in a well of fresh black ink, and penned:

 __

 _To the Dark Lord  
I know I will be dead long before you read this,  
but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret.  
I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.  
I face death in the hope that when you meet your match,  
you will be mortal once more.  
R.A.B._

  
I folded the scrap of parchment once, twice, three times, the sweat from my palms leaving a streak on it, before tucking the note inside the locket, which I then slipped into my pocket. The world suddenly looked too bright, every colour more vibrant as I walked downstairs, and it made me want to shield my eyes. And finally I opened the door of Kreacher’s little cupboard; he got up out of a pile of blankets and bowed low to me.

“Kreacher, I need your help,” I said, and even my voice had an odd, foreboding brightness to it, a suppressed energy; Kreacher must have noticed, and watched me warily. I continued, “If it’s not too much to ask, can you take me to the cave where the Dark Lord brought you? You will be fine, nothing will happen to you with me. But I have unfinished business.” 

He nodded. In silence he Apparated us both to a cave; I could smell the salt of the ocean nearby, hear the angry waves breaking against the rocks in the dark. As I searched around the small area for the lake and basin of potion Kreacher had mentioned, Kreacher cut himself with a sharp stone and wiped the blood on the wall directly opposite us, which disappeared, leaving nothing but an archway leading to a large, dim cavern.

I followed Kreacher along the side of the cavern, between the wall and the expressionless, dead lake, my eyes trained on the faint green light in the centre. My wand light did little to illuminate the path for Kreacher and me, but he seemed to know the way even without the aid of my light. Reaching out his thin arm, Kreacher grabbed something invisible, struggling with the weight of it; I assumed there must be a Disillusionment Charm, and reversed it. A rusty chain appeared, which I helped Kreacher tug, until it brought a small boat into view, right up to the rocky shore. We sailed across the lake together to the little island with the stone basin on a pedestal. It was full of green potion, as Kreacher had described. There was only one thing to do now.

I reached into my pocket and withdrew the replacement locket, which I handed to Kreacher. Kreacher could get out of here again; the locket was safest with him. “I am going to drink the potion,” I told him. “If something happens to me in the process, this is what you must do. Take this locket, and switch it with the other one when the potion basin is empty. Then leave here without me, and go home. Destroy the first locket. And you must never tell anyone what has happened here.”

“Master Regulus…” whispered Kreacher, his nose and his wide eyes leaking, his thin shoulders slumped in defeat. “Master will see things, Master will hurt and be sick. Kreacher is begging Master not to do this…”

“I have to,” I said softly. “It’s the only way.”

“Kreacher can drink—” Kreacher began, but I cut him off.

“No.”

Then I conjured a small goblet and dipped it into the green potion, the deep colour so toxically bright in the dark cavern such that I could not look away. I wondered what would happen if I simply poured it out; I considered it, until I saw the leg of a dead person in the water. Probably an Inferius, who would leap up at me if I poured the potion into the water. So I drained the goblet. It was like poison, searing my esophagus and lungs. I was overcome with a desire to drink pure, clean water, but that was out of the question. I filled the goblet in the basin again.

My thirst was overpowering, yet I kept drinking, as if one more gulp of the potion would quench it. After three drinks of the potion I sat down, only wanting to give up. I needed water. But part of me rebelled. If I could not see this through, then I was as weak as the Dark Lord had said. I needed to be strong. Confident in the face of Death, like Summer had been.

Someone screamed as I reached out for another gobletful of potion – it might have been me. I was vaguely aware of voices and hands, possibly Kreacher’s. But more real to me than Kreacher was Summer, sitting in a hospital bed right before my eyes, her hair falling out and needles dripping liquid into her arms.

“It hurts,” she said. Or maybe I said it.

“You can do it,” I told her… or she told me? “You’re strong – keep fighting.”

I watched as Bellatrix murdered Anne again, and then the green potion swam in my vision in perfect clarity. I drank more of it. Someone was crying nearby. Summer, possibly. Or Kreacher?

More potion. I couldn’t breathe, and my throat cried out for water. There was water on my face, but it tasted salty. Staggering from the pedestal with a fresh helping of potion, I threw the goblet as far from me as I could manage. Anne screamed. Through a bleary daze I saw the water surrounding the island that kept me captive; I stumbled towards the inky blackness lapping at my feet, collapsed to my knees, and reached my hand into the life-sustaining liquid. As if from hundreds of miles away, Kreacher’s cracking voice came to me in waves, but I couldn’t discern what he was saying.

There were cold hands on me, on my arms, and suddenly I was weightless, whether floating in water or in air I wasn’t sure. Coughs and gasps racked my lungs, and then they stopped. With my eyes closed, I could feel the agonising pain slipping away slowly. Inside my eyelids was a white light; I let it take me towards eternal summer.

***

 

**A/N: Regulus’ note to Voldemort is a direct quote from _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ by J.K. Rowling, chapter 28, “Flight of the Prince”.**

**Thanks to everyone who read this little story! It may be the most depressing thing I’ve ever written, but I’d love to hear what you thought of it in a review. Your reviews mean a lot to me. ♥**


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